


The Price

by vampirewithbedsidemanners



Category: Tom Hiddleston Fandom, hiddlestoners
Genre: F/M, Gen, Tumblr, Warning: Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:42:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirewithbedsidemanners/pseuds/vampirewithbedsidemanners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of the most beautiful souls shine through miles of scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price

**Author's Note:**

> I was cleaning out my writing files and I happened across this wonder. Hope you enjoy. Its no where near finished but after I get through my workload I will continue writing this. It will be a few weeks until I can start again, but I will. Promises promises.

"Sometimes... well, most of the time when I write its... its easy, you know? Its poetic and melodic and soothing. What I write may be sad and traumatic but when I'm writing, the words that come out... they heal me. That probably makes no sense to you at all, sorry." I cringe a little bit, waiting for the sarcastic laughter or the fake understanding that everyone showed me when I tried to explain my 'process' to them. 

It never came. Instead he looked at me in attentive, patient, silence; just waiting for me to continue.  _Me._

_How the hell did I end up here?_

"A-and then..." I sucked in a sharp breath, taking a slight pause to string a somewhat intelligent sentence together that would, hopefully, accurately describe my writing. _A very hard thing to do. Writing is everything._  "And then sometimes it feels like I'm grating my heart down, inch by inch. Its not me, its someone else that comes out the other end. Its choppy and fake and everything I try to avoid. And it hurts."

 _Oh god did it hurt._ I felt the familiar pinch between my eyebrows and the tightening of my chest as my memories of my last bout with writers block came flooding back to me.  _How can something so insignificant to everyone else be so important to me?_

I already knew the answer. I had known that answer my entire life.  _Not now. Don't think about it now._

**Some scars run deeper than others.**

"You are a fantastic writer, I'm sure you have been told that before." I looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time since I had begun trying to explain my writing to him. His genuine smile was laced with concern, his eyes looking through me, right through to my tattered and scared soul.

_Because you understand, don't you._

"And you are a fantastic Actor, I'm sure you've heard." I counter, straightening up and placing a small smile on my lips. 

"Touche, Evan." He chuckles, leaning back, the intensity of the moment ebbing away as he settles against my couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. I crinkled my nose at him and stood up, stretching after what must have been hours on the floor. I nudged the small stack of journals and reference books that were stacked up to the side with my foot as I bent over to pick up my tea cup that had been empty for a while. 

"You finished?" I asked, holding out my free hand for his cup. 

"Yes, yes. Thank you." He shuffled around, handing his cup up to me with a renewed energy, despite it being past one in the morning. He didn't seem tired at all as his blue eyes twinkled and he smile up at me. "Are you doing down?" He asked, running his long, slender fingers over the book that was balanced on his thighs, closing it gingerly without looking. 

"Yeah, I was going to take these down and get to bed. We have a late day tomorrow so maybe I can catch up on some sleep."  

"Of course. Thank you so much, Evan, for doing this for me." He gave me a warm, genuine smile.

"No problem, it's why I'm here." I say, turning around and making my way to the door.Pausing, I looked over my shoulder with a smile. "Goodnight, Thomas." 

"Goodnight, Evan." 

And then I left, out the door into the dark hallway of the house where we have been filming for the last few weeks. It was a big house, with plenty of room for all of us and an empty garage where we had been able to store all the equipment. I had grown accustomed in the short time I had been here to the simple lay out and the cozy rooms; I had even found a few little spots that were excellent for curling up with a book and a cuppa to pass the time between scenes.

_How the hell did I end up here?_

Exactly two years, two months and eleven days ago I woke up to the incessant pounding on my door at five in the morning. I could still remember sliding out of bed, throwing open the door, not caring that I was still in my practically nonexistent pajama shorts and baggy t-shirt to find my publisher standing there, some papers rolled in her hand and a huge smile spread across her face. 

 _'YOU MADE THE NEW YORK BEST-SELLERS LIST!!!'_ She cried, throwing herself at me in a full body bear hug.

_I'm officially an author._

Even after all this time it didn't feel real. I made the list, and then everything after that came in a rush: the contracts, the interviews, the commissions, and the film. A film.  _They made my book into a movie._ It was all too much and then not enough. Every day I woke up, fingers itching to put pen to paper and draft the next chapter, or a poem, or something. I spent hours, every day, writing and reading and researching. I made a list of books I needed to read and literary concepts I needed to learn. I wrote out rules and guidelines and experimented. I pushed myself to write and write and write because now, now I finally had what I wanted. I was right where I wanted to be.  _And it only took a lifetime to get here._

I stumbled into the kitchen, tripping over my own two left feet. I set the cups in the sink, righted myself, and then headed back upstairs to the room I normally shared with Jess, who would be gone for the remainder of the week. As I topped the stairs, I caught the final flick of light under Tom's door as he shut his lights off. Our rooms made up two of the three rooms on the top floor; the other was split three ways between two makeup artists and our solitary camera girl who as much of a nerd about film as I was about literature. They had all been out cold for four hours, not making a peep as Tom and I dug into my available body of work to help him fill the shoes of one of my most troubled characters.

_Tom Hiddleston, lead._

When I saw his name in amongst the rest of the actors I almost fainted.  _How? How?_ The rest of the cast were all actors I recognized vaguely from pictures but couldn't name nor place, and then there was him.  _Maybe this wouldn't turn out so bad after all._

I smiled at the dark space beneath his door where light had creeped out earlier and then turned away and tucked into my room, flipping on the lights and shutting the door.  _I was so lucky, so very fortunate indeed._ With a lightness in my chest I slid off my knee length, casual blue dress and pulled on my plaid pajama pants and tank top. I had been up about twenty seven hours, and it was starting to show. Stifling a yawn I flipped off the lights and walked across the room to my bed. _  
_

Twenty seven hours.

It was normal for me, really. Staying up, not sleeping. It helped as much as it hurt, but I would take the downsides over the alternative. No one knew, not really.  _And that is how it is going to stay._ Some things are better left unsaid. It didn't make it any easier. I was tired, so tired. My eyes fought to stay open as I curled into the blankets, making a small little warm pocket of protection.

It never protected me, because what I needed protection from wasn't something a little bit of warmth and some blankets could stop. Exhausted, eyes falling shut, I stared out into the corner of the room.  _What's it going to be this time?_

Silence. 

Nothing.

 

*

  _There was nothing. No air, no sound outside the frantic, slowing pace of my heart._

_no._

_Thump... thump..._

_No._

_Thump........... Thump........ Thu-ump...... Th........_

_'NO!!!!!!'_

_I try to scream but its caught in my chest._

_'NO NO NO NO! STOP! NOT... N-NOT AGAIN!'_

_I cant stop it, I can never stop it. There is nothing but silence and the pull, dragging me down. NO! Fear rips through my chest, immobilizing me._

_I want to cry, to scream, to lash out. But theres nothing to lash out against here. Its just me. Alone._

_Please be alone. Please be alone. Please be..._

_No._

_Dark hollowed eyes stare out at me in the darkness, accompanied by a sick, faceless smile that makes my stomach churn. I feel its hands digging into my flesh, ripping it away from my bones. Its laughter filles the room, dark and broken. Raspy, gasping, grinding, nails on a chalkboard._

_'you're home.'_

_*_

"AHHHHHHHH!!!" The sound tore from my throat before I could stop it, a high pitched, blood curdling scream.  _No. No. "_ not again. not again. not again." I mumble, trying to push away the feeling of my flesh being torn away. It was like I couldn't feel the pain, just the loss. 

My long brown curls were plastered to my face, dampened by the small beads of sweat on my skin. My feet kicked out at the blankets, pushing my back into the headboard as I shot up the bed. "Not again. No. No. Stop." I panted, kicking out at the residual image of the creature, its face twisting more and more with every mumbled word.

_No one wake up. No one see me, not like this. Not without my skin._

I shook, my limbs to heavy to fight back even as it dug in closer, intent on finishing me off.  _I am so useless. Fight Evan!_

I couldn't. I couldn't fight and it  _knew_ it. It knew.

"EVAN!" Tom called, my door flying open a second later as he tore into the room. I didn't look up. The creature didn't look up. It kept its eyes fixated on me, inching closer.

_'Can you smell it?'_ It whispered. ' _Can you smell the death?'_

"Not again. No, no no no." I whimpered. Strong hands grabbed my arms and I shrieked, jerking back. _Soft hands, skin. Theres skin._  

"EVAN! Evan what is going on?" 

_Tom._

Tom came into my sight, sitting in front of me on the bed, his hands held out as if I were an animal about to run. His brows were knit together, his jaw hung open slightly, his blue eyes swimming in concern, confusion.  _Shit._

"Thomas..." I breath out, suddenly aware of how long I had been holding my breath. As soon as my lungs emptied I gasped, air filing them again, each draw shaking less and less as I sat there, fighting my lungs and my arms and the pounding in my head as I came back from wherever that was. Tom sat patiently waiting for me to recover, to relax. 

"Shh... Hey... Dont cry..." He says softly, reaching out gently and cupping my cheek. I couldn't feel the tears streaming down my face until his thumb ran through the river, ghosting the wetness across my cheekbone.

"T-tom..." I gasp, uncoiling. The last of the tension from the terror dissipating, and with it the feeling of the creatures hands.

And then it hits. _Shit. Tom._

"I'm here." He says softly, comforting.  _Shit._

"N-no. No. I'm sorry... I... Shit... No, Thomas. Please just..." He looks at me, me. Scarred, scared me. Me with no walls, no wit to hide behind or clever quote to change the subject with. He looks at me.  _I feel sick._

"Evan..." He starts but I pull back, removing his hand from my face and forcing my walls back in place.

"No, Thomas. I'm fine. Sorry to disturb you, I didnt mean to.. to... Please just go back to bed. I'm sorry." I breath out slowly, releasing his hand and shifting away from him.  _At least my voice is even._

"Evan..." His all-seeing eyes rake over me, like they are looking for my open wounds.  _Keep looking._

"Thomas." I sat curtly, dismissively. "Thank you." He leans away, not getting up. I cant look at him, so I look everywhere else. I stare at the crease in the bedspread I had kicked down to the end of the bed as I thrashed around. _How long was I asleep?_

_Please leave, Tom. Please._

"No." He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving my face. "Whats going on, Evan?"   _No, no._

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." I jump a little, my eyes flying up to meet his inquisitive gaze.  _I can't do this. I value you too much, Tom. You are too good a friend for me to... to..._

_To throw it all away._

_Again._

"Please don't." I whisper, aware of the way my voice shook as I looked up at him. "Dont."

"Talk to me." He presses, leaning into me, closing the distance.

"I... No." I mumble and he lets out an exasperated sigh.

"I am not going anywhere until you talk to me." 

"Why?"

"Because I just woke up to possibly one of the most brilliant writers I have ever met screaming as if she were being brutally murdered. I saw your face, Evan. I saw the look on your face when I came in... It's not nothing. I'm not leaving you." 

All I could do was stare. Stare at him, his words hanging in the air.  _Im not leaving you._

You say that now.

This is what always happened. Always. People always want to know, to share in the knowledge of something beyond themselves. They want to know, to be a good friend and be there for me. 

_I don't need you. I can't need you._

**It's not in my nature.**

 


End file.
